


The Lost Memories of James "Bucky" Barnes

by Thenlar



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Gen, Memories
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-12
Updated: 2014-09-12
Packaged: 2018-02-17 02:50:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,220
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2294177
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Thenlar/pseuds/Thenlar
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Steve Rogers has retired as Captain America. He wants to pass the mantle on to his good friend James "Bucky" Barnes, but other members of the Avengers (Tony in particular) are wary of the former HYDRA assassin.</p>
<p>This very short fic is based on speculation risen from the rumors that while Chris Evans is only slated for another couple movies, Sebastian Stan is contracted for up to nine Marvel movies. Chris Evans has stated he wants to finish out his contracted movies and then retire from being Captain America. It seems logical that since the comics have also had Bucky take over as Cap, the MCU might do the same. This story is about some of the things surrounding such an occurrence that would have to be worked out.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Lost Memories of James "Bucky" Barnes

"You think you can just pick up the shield and suddenly you're Captain America?"

Tony gave Bucky an arch look and then shook his head.

"Look, you're certainly a geriatric like Rogers, and you were also in World War II, but I think we're overlooking a very important difference here, guys."

He looked around the room and then stared at Natasha, who just crossed her arms over her chest. Bucky noted that she almost appeared resigned. She expected a long, drawn-out argument.

"He's a HYDRA assassin? I know you didn't forget that, Natasha. Since you know, he tried to kill you a few times. Not to mention the whole blowing your cover because SHIELD was nothing but a huge sham?"

Natasha shrugged. "Rogers trusts him."

Tony threw up his hands. "Rogers is a Boy Scout! From the 50s! I bet he doesn't even lock his door and still says hi to his neighbors instead of complaining about their loud music like normal people do. Plus, this guy SHOT Rogers. TWICE!"

Bucky remained still throughout the entire tirade. Watching Tony's body language, he could see that despite the constant sarcasm, there was something deeper behind his mistrust. Stark's movements were slightly uncontrolled. His eyes occasionally flicked at Bucky even as he was speaking to Natasha.

Natasha spoke up again. "Steve gave him the shield, Stark. Right before he left. I was there."

Tony sighed and leaned on the desk between them. He rapped his knuckles on the shield, eliciting virtually no sound from the vibranium. "You know, my father worked on this shield. Gave it to Rogers, in the war. And here's something else Rogers told me. You already know about this, since you were there. Remember? In Zola's hidden bunker? HYDRA killed my parents, Natasha."

He slammed his fist against the desk. "He's probably the one who did it! I'll be damned if I let something my father created be used by someone who just might have MURDERED HIM!"

Natasha held up her hands. "You can't say that for certain, Stark! Bucky has no memories, HYDRA's treated him pretty badly too, you know. Wiping his mind and treating him like just a thing. A weapon to be pointed and unleashed." Although the gesture was placatory, Bucky could see her eyes narrow a bit. She was starting to become adversarial with Stark.

Tony shook his head. His motions were becoming tight, overly controlled. It was likely he was trying harder to tamp down on his emotions. It didn't seem to be working well. "Well that's awfully convenient, too, then isn't it? We don't know what he's done. HE doesn't know what he's done! We don't know what ELSE HYDRA might have done! What if he has buried programming? Secret instructions! There's no way we can trust him!"

Natasha opened her mouth, but Bucky cut her off.

"You're right."

Tony scowled. "Listen, I wasn't even- ... wait, what? Say that again? I'm a little... a little buzzed and I might not have heard you correctly there."

A tiny smile curled Bucky's lips. He spoke again, just a tad slower. "You're right."

Tony stood up straight, tension rolling off his shoulders like water. "Okay, nevermind, I like him better as Captain America already. This one agrees with me."

Bucky's smile grew a little wider, but it disappeared after a moment as he spoke. "I shouldn't be Captain America yet. Can't be. We do need to know what else might be buried in my head. *I* need to know. I need to know what can be recovered. What else I've done. Who I've hurt. You're right about this, Stark. What can we do about it?"

Stark frowned. "Well, that's a good question. Let me talk to someone. Jarvis, connect me to Lab Alpha." He tapped the Bluetooth headset in his ear and walked a few paces away.

Natasha turned to Bucky and smiled. "That was very neatly done, Barnes. Deflect him and focus his attention on a problem to solved, and get him distracted."

Bucky shrugged. "Maybe, but it IS a problem, Natasha. As much as I want to honor Steve's wishes, you know that I shouldn't carry that shield as long as there's questions about me. And some of those questions are mine. I need to know who I am. Who I was."

She nodded slowly and turned and watched Stark's animated conversation. After several minutes, he came walking back over. "Okay, we have some ideas. Bucky, take the elevator down to Lab Alpha. It's nice and secure there, and someone will meet you."

Bucky paused and looked at Natasha first, who just nodded. He turned and walked away without another word, as Stark started asking the former Soviet spy what other information sources she could tap about the mythical Winter Soldier.

He stepped into the open elevator, and shivered slightly as the doors swished shut and he began to descend. What would he find out? He was missing so much. Who was he?

 

***

“Is there something I can help you with?”

Bucky didn't realize the scientist was talking to him. Caucasian male, curly gray hair, glasses, slight build. Defensive posture. Minimal threat.

“Excuse me? You're Mr. Barnes, right?

Oh. That was his own name now. Or used to be. He just nodded.

“Oh, good. Stark told me you would be coming down for a few tests.”

Bucky glanced around the lab. Cold concrete walls. High-strength plexiglass observation windows. All furnishings were steel and titanium. Very sturdy. Useful weapons or obstructions.

The man waved in front of his face to get his attention. “No, no one else in here. No one to hurt. C'mon, let's get you seated.” He pointed at an examination chair in an alcove surrounded by instruments and panels.

There were restraints.

He saw Bucky staring at them. “Oh, those. Anything recovered is likely to be traumatic. They're only going to be loosely secured, just so you don't fall out of the chair, or dislodge any instruments.”

Bucky sat down slowly and took a deep breath. The scientist strapped the padded leather cuffs on his arms. Loosely, as promised.

He remained perfectly still as a electrodes were applied to his forehead, and a gently humming machine brought online. There was a faint prick as the scientist injected something in his right arm. The syringe was placed on a counter near the wall to his right. A helmet-like device was maneuvered over his head.

“This will read your brain wave activity. The injection I gave you will help enhance the readings. You might feel a buzzing sensation at times, it's perfectly normal. Now just relax, and we'll see what we can tease out from your mind...”

Bucky couldn't relax. The feeling was too similar. The electric feeling coursing through his head. His back arched, creaking the leather of the seat beneath him-

_as he settled low in the passenger seat next to the truck driver. It was dark, and the cab of the tractor-trailer was high; no one should be able to see him holding the driver at gunpoint. The beacon appeared on his tracker. The Starks were on the move. It was very helpful of SHIELD to track the whereabouts of their top scientist. The Winter Soldier waited for the right moment... “Drive,” he ordered. The semi lurched into motion, accelerating forward. “Faster.” Visibly sweating, the man shifted gears and accelerated straight towards the bright red traffic light ahead. There was a flash of red as Howard Stark's sports car suddenly appeared in front of the truck. He just caught a glimpse of his target's spouse in the passenger seat before the entire car was smashed into mangled debris. The cab of the tractor-trailer ground to a halt as the driver started babbling. The Winter Soldier's left hand snapped out, grabbing the back of his neck, and slamming his forehead against the steering wheel, then with a deft twist, breaking the man's neck. Satisfied that his mission was complete, with all witnesses eliminated, he retreated into the sleeper compartment. He'd make his escape when an infiltrated SHIELD investigation team took custody of the truck. Darkness enveloped him and-_

his eyes snapped open. Where was he now? The mission was complete, he should be asleep. His arms flexed, and pulled up against the leather restraints. He felt them pull tight against his skin-

_as the rope snapped taut around his right forearm. He braced his feet against the side of the building and steadied himself. This was the first live mission. He felt ready. Wind speed minimal. Distance to target 400 meters. 10 meter elevation distance requiring minimal compensation. He hefted his rifle in his left arm. The cybernetic arm held unnaturally steady, with none of the twitches or fatigue a meat and muscle arm would. He stayed in position, shadowed in the building's overhang for ten more minutes before his target appeared. The West German army officer habitually smoked a cigar on his balcony before going to bed.... and there he was. The Winter Soldier lifted his rifle up and braced it against his shoulder. He tilted his head and peered through the scope. It should be a difficult shot with one hand, but his new arm made it easy. He barely felt the recoil of the shot. The target's head snapped back and blood and brain painted the glass doors behind him. Mission complete. Looking through the scope, he could see another person behind the glass. The target's daughter. She was screaming. But she didn't see him. He slung the rifle and pulled himself up-_

banging his forehead against the device surrounding his head. Electricity sparked out of its electrodes and ran over his skin like a thousand tiny needles. A spark bit his neck-

_and surged down his shoulder into the metal arm they were grafting to his torso. He yelped in pain. “Yes! YES!” the short Swiss scientist yelled. “Good, we are establishing connection!” Bucky looked down. The arm flexed with his wild thrashing. An assistant rushed over, stabbing another plug into the arm. White hot agony lanced through his body and the metal arm punched out, smashing the man in the chest. Blood spat from his mouth as he was thrown against the wall and slumped to the ground, unmoving. Bucky sucked in air, staring at the body. The Swiss doctor was unmoved. Bucky remembered him. From an earlier time. What was his name? Zola.“Bah! Leave him! We will clean that up later, the neural lattices are nearly complete!” His eyes bored into Bucky like he was a lab specimen. “Again!” Fire slashed through his nervous system again, leaving him a gasping wreck. His head hurt. Everything hurt. Fatigue and shock settled over him like a blanket, isolating him from his own body, making him feel-_

like a passenger in his own body. He stared out from a stranger's eyes. The brick wall beyond the glass was-

_lit with the dim glow of fading daylight. He didn't even know what they wanted with him anymore. Tests, unending tests. Needle after needle, filled with vials of fluids and serums. Someone shined a light in his eye. “This one appears to be surviving the regimen, Doctor Zola.” A round face with round glasses appeared in his vision. “Oh! Is that so? Most interesting. What makes you so special, my friend?” Bucky didn't know what to say. He fell back on his training. “James Buchanan Barnes. Sergeant. Three-Two-Five, Five-Seven, Zero-Three-Eight.” The scientist simply seemed amused. “Even more interesting! This one can be trained. He can be... programmed. Try the next dose. See if he lives.” Another needle plunged into his flesh. The cold pulse that surged under his skin hit his brain moments later, and his vision dimmed. He fought the urge to retch. Time stretched. Faces twisted. “James Buchanan Barnes. Sergeant. Three-Two-Five, Five-Seven, Zero-Three-Eight,” he heard himself mutter. That's what you were supposed to say when you were-_

captured. Which meant he had to escape. With a roar, he kicked out, slamming the little scientist in front him against a table. He wrenched his arms upward, snapping the leather. Weapon. His eyes darted to the right. The used syringe. He snatched it up, surging out of the chair towards the-

And found himself staring at the ceiling. A massive green hand was planted on his chest. He stabbed at it with the needle... the metal point simply broke. The pressure on his chest suddenly increased, and the chair creaked ominously. Bucky coughed, trying to draw breath into lungs that couldn't expand.

An enormous green face loomed over him. “Stop,” it growled.

Bucky went still. He wasn't captured. He was in a Stark lab. He was here for help. To dig up memories. To find any deep-buried Hydra programming. His hand let go of the shattered syringe and his body relaxed. The enormous hand lifted off his chest and suddenly he could breathe.

A moment later, the unthreatening human looked at him with compassion in his eyes. “I think that's enough for now, Mr. Barnes. You're clearly exhausted, and-”

“No.” Bucky reached up and grabbed the device over his head, pulling it down. “I … I need to know. I need to know what I've **done**. What's been done to **me.** ”

He looked at Bruce Banner. “I can do this.”


End file.
